Swan Dive
by natasha0
Summary: Dick always knew he had to face it all eventually. Can he manage to pull his life together in the end?
1. Chapter 1

His eyes felt heavy and his head was hammering so fucking bad; he just wanted to turn down the sound. _What the fuck happened?_ There was an unidentifiable beeping sound nearby and glaring overhead lights blazing through the insides of his closed eyelids. He didn't know where he was, but strange beds were nothing new. It was just that normally, the beds were way more comfortable, and there was a warm, naked body next to him.

Dick opened his eyes just a sliver. The paneled ceiling didn't look familiar so he turned his head slightly to the right, cataloguing each new item that he saw. Transparent bag of liquid hanging from a pole. Blue machine with a heartbeat line flickering across the screen. Metal bar on the side of the bed. _Well fuck. _

"Wll frg." Dick's attempt to vocalize his thoughts came out as a barely intelligible mumble. He heard rustling from his left side. Turning his head towards the sound very slowly – he'd realized right away that moving meant nausea – he found Logan shifting himself to lean forward in a tiny visitor's chair. He did not look happy.

"Hey, Dick." Logan said quietly, face neutral but eyes blazing. "Well fucking done."

"Wha-?" Dick tried again to get coherent words out of his mouth, but his throat was burning and his tongue felt three sizes too big.

"You tell me, man. The hospital left me a message at home telling me you were here. I came as soon as Veronica was able to track me down at the base. Three fucking days ago. You have been unconscious for three fucking days, asshole."

It took all of Dick's limited concentration to put together what Logan was telling him but even in the state he was in he could infer Logan's opinion of his situation. Logan was thoroughly pissed off, and Dick thought that his friend could be a little more understanding, considering that he'd just woken up in a hospital bed. _I mean, man, it's not like Logan's never had a little too good a time at a party before. Whatever I did must have been legendary though, for me to end up here. Wish I could remember what it was._

He must have looked confused, because Logan shook his head as though answering Dick's unasked question. "All I know is that the ambulance picked you up at Sunset Cliffs. They said that you-" Logan cut himself off, unable to continue.

Dick just stared at his best friend. Logan was not only pissed off, but Dick got the distinct impression that he was really distraught. Signaling for water, he drank from the straw that Logan put to his lips, and took a few moments while the water soothed his throat to recall his most recent memories. They returned to him in fits and starts, but he managed to remember enough to be able to explain himself at least.

He had stopped at the 09er after a business meeting with his foundation's lawyers. It had been a particularly frustrating meeting, his lawyers treating him as though he didn't understand the rudiments of a contract. But he'd shown them when he pointed out the loophole that they had tried to get past him. _Assholes_. He knew that he gave off the impression that he was just an idiot surfer, more often high than not, but he had a head for business and the university degree to prove it. In fact, he had his university degree _in spite_ of his frat boy behavior and reputation. That in itself should prove how much business sense he actually had.

All he'd wanted to do was blow off some steam. He'd met some girls, bought them a few drinks, flashed his private pharmaceutical stash, and gotten himself invited to a party somewhere. He couldn't even remember actually getting to the Cliffs. His memory got fuzzy somewhere after chasing the little blue pills with a glass of Cristal, but he did remember the giggling and soft skin and not wanting to go home to an empty house. Parties were the only places where he never had to fight his reputation. It was always easier to just go with it all. And let's face it, playing the hot, rich playboy wasn't a bad way to live.

Then he remembered beautiful full lips egging him on, and being sure that the water was deep enough.

Dick tried a few times to make himself heard; his voice sounded like sandpaper, but if he could just get the story out, Logan would totally get it! Back in the good old days, his buddy was no stranger to partying right along next to him when life got generally shitty, after all, and he knew how shitty Dick's life actually was. Finally, hoarse but desperate to make his BFF understand this time, Dick managed to slowly explain.

"Dude! C'mon, man!" Dick paused to cough and sip some more water. "We were partying up on the cliffs and, -" he paused again, struggling to remain audible and breathe at the same time. "- you know, the babes, they always like that macho man shit." He tried to look smug but succeeded only in wincing in pain. "Gotta give the ladies what they want if you want the booty. Fair's fair."

Logan leapt out of his chair, lips clenched in a tight line as if to hold back the angry words. He closed his eyes and started counting; Dick could see his lips moving as he mouthed the numbers. _I must not be telling it right. He didn't get it. The lawyers, I need to tell him about the shitty meeting._ But Logan had reached twenty, taken a deep breath and opened his eyes before Dick could find his voice again. "Your swan dive must not have impressed the babes enough, because they took off after they called 911. There was no one there when the paramedics arrived. They had to scrape your carcass off the rocks." Logan walked to the window, turning his back so that Dick could no longer see his face.

"Guess I need more practice." Dick tried to joke to lighten the mood. When Logan didn't answer, he switched subjects, trying for a little sympathy. "So what's the damage? How long before I can go and see how much my lawyers have fucked up my life since I've been in here?"

Logan didn't turn around, nor did he directly answer the question. "How drunk were you anyway? Must have been pretty drunk, 'cause you still reek of the shit. I mean, they had to pump your stomach. You know, in case you couldn't tell from the sore throat."

"What the fuck, man? It was a fucking party! What else do you do at a party?" Dick tried to exclaim, but he felt so tired he was pretty sure that his annoyance didn't come across the way he wanted. What good was having your friends around when all they did was give you shit when you were down?

"What else did you do? E? Coke? Have you graduated to heroin yet?" Logan wasn't shouting, but Dick was pretty sure that the easy tone he was using to ask the questions meant something worse.

"I dunno; I don't do heroin, though, dude. You know that. That shit will fuck you up!"

"Mmm." Logan said noncommittally, and then turned around. Dick had only seen the face he was making a few times before, all times when Veronica had gone nuclear on his life. "I don't know that, actually. I don't know what the actual fuck you're doing anymore. All that I do know is that you haven't been a goddamn frat boy for over a decade. And that someone else in my life looked like they were trying to fucking kill themselves by jumping off a fucking cliff! Son of a fucking bitch, Dick! I know it's hard, but enough! Enough!" By this time, although trying to keep his voice low, Logan was so angry he was literally spitting out the words.

Dick tried to focus on his best friend, but the edges of his vision were starting to go white and his eyelids refused to stay open. "God! I'm sorry dude!" was what Dick meant to say, but all that Logan heard was Dick exhale a breath before the machines began to scream.

* * *

><p>Dick is sitting on the grass in the front yard of his childhood home, leaning against the giant palm tree that grows like an arrow stuck in the bull's eye of a grassy circle in the middle of the curved driveway. <em>How the fuck did I get here? Where's Logan?<em> Either he had knocked his head pretty hard or he was going to have to have a word with his supplier about what his drugs are getting cut with.

Then, the astonishing sight in front of him seizes the breath in his lungs. He's dumbfounded.

"So you're finally ready?"

Dick unwillingly drags his gaze away from the child in the yard and turns to find Mr. Mars Mars leaning against the palm tree just behind him, hands in the pockets of his beige Walmart liquidation-sale jacket. Now he knows something's weird, because why the hell would Veronica's dad be standing with him in the front of his house. "Huh?"

Mr. Mars smiles gently. "You're finally ready to face it?"

"Face what, dude – I mean, sir?"

"Everything."


	2. Chapter 2

Dick watches as Keith lowers himself to the ground with more grace than he would have assumed the old guy was capable of. Settling his joined hands on his paunch, Keith leans back against the tree and looks over to the driveway. A faint whiff of Aqua Velva drifts by on the breeze.

It doesn't seem possible to be so hyper-aware of a figment of one's imagination, and yet Dick can feel the presence of the boy fifty feet from him in the same way that he can feel the grass under his fingertips.

_He's not really there. Wake up, man. He's not really there. _The chant is on repeat in his mind and he stares firmly at Keith's face, refusing to confirm that the mirage is real.

_Please let him be real._

"Uh, Mr. Mars, sir, what the fu-" Dick catches himself just as Keith puts his dad-face on and raises a stern eyebrow. "I mean, what the hell is going on? I'm pretty sure I'm not hung over, but I have no idea how I got here, dude. Man. Sir." _How do I address the man who raised a hurricane?_

"Dick, you've known my daughter since the third grade. You're her boyfriend's best friend. You're also, God help us all, an adult. For the purposes of this conversation, call me…Mr. Mars." Keith finishes dryly.

Dick bobs his head, acknowledging internally that this is probably the best he's going to get from the man his brother almost murdered, but at the same time, feeling lost and hoping for a little compassion. "Look, Mr. Mars, I'm either on a bad trip or I've lost my goddamn mind, so I'm sorry if this sounds crass, or not polite, or whatever, but what the fuck is a six-year-old Beav-" he takes a deep breath, "-Cassidy doing over there? And why the fuck am I sitting in front of a house I sold seven years ago?"

"Those are excellent questions, Dick." Keith responds without actually answering anything, using the same tone a teacher might use to encourage a particularly slow student. "I'd imagine you must be pretty confused."

Dick's attention is suddenly jerked away from Keith by a voice coming from around the side of the house. His face goes white in realization.

_Jesus Christ! That's me. _

Dick jumps to his feet and has to hold himself upright on the trunk of the palm tree when his own seven-year-old self comes into view. He whips his head around, silently demanding an explanation from his guide, but all he sees is a sympathetic smile in return.

"Wakeupwakeupwakeupwakeup!" Dick slaps himself on both cheeks as though trying to rouse a corpse, but he's shaking so hard that he doesn't have the power to make the blows effective.

He can feel a reassuring hand on his leg and hear the man's calm yet firm voice, full of authority. "Dick, stop. There's nothing you can do but watch. You're perfectly safe with me. Nothing's going to hurt you. Now, sit!"

Dick immediately drops back down to the ground and closes his eyes.

_I don't want to watch this. I can't watch this._

But he can't turn off his ears.

"Cass, what are you playing with?" He can hear kid-Dick ask his brother. His living, breathing brother. _God, why is this happening?_

"I'm making the flowers nice for mommy. Before she went away, she yelled at the gardener about how he wasn't keeping the flowers nice in front. I wanted to make her come home again. To not be angry anymore."

"Are those _pink_ gloves?" kid-Dick starts laughing uproariously and adult-Dick can't help but open his eyes to watch the beginning of the end. He remembers what's coming. He's about to put a label on his brother that will cause him no end of suffering and he deserves to see it happen—face it, relive it—after what he's done. He deserves much worse.

_Why did I have to be such a little shit? All he wanted was for us to use his name, right up until he stepped off that goddamn roof. Isn't that what Logan said his last words were? Cassidy. It's not hard to say. His fucking name was Cassidy. _

"Shut up, stupid! I couldn't find other ones," Cassidy whines. "Sto-op!"

"You're such a girl, wearing girl gloves. Cass is a gi-irl! Cass is a gi-irl!" Kid-Dick harasses his brother in a sing-song voice. "You are a beaver. Cass is a beaver! Cass is a beaver!"

"Shut up! I am not! My teeth are normal-looking, fart-head!"

Adult-Dick scrutinizes his little brother. Cassidy is standing chillingly still, fists clenched. The boy's face is blank, held neutral, but his eyes… They may be filled with unshed tears but those do nothing to hide the pure loathing. Dick can almost see all the options for torturing him that Cass is considering flicker through his eyes, even from this distance.

_How come I never saw how much he hated me? Look at him, standing there. I thought he was just a pussy for taking it, but look at him. Jesus, he would kill me right there if he could. I'm sorry, Cassidy. I was the one with the name that fit. I was a dick. It wasn't you, dude. It wasn't you._

Kid-Dick just laughs harder. "That's not what I meant, booger brain." He can barely get the words out between the guffaws. "Casey's older brother told me what a beaver was at school yesterday. And you're a girl, so you're a beaver!" With that parting shot, kid-Dick runs back around the side of the house chanting "Beaver! Beaver!" until he can no longer be heard.

Six-year-old Cassidy stands staring at his brother's retreating back. The face that he had been holding so tightly controlled has now collapsed and the tears he hadn't allowed to escape are now running down his face. He wrenches off the gloves just as Mr. Casablancas comes out the front door, and then runs up to his father, all indignant rage, looking for justice.

"Daddy! Dick's calling me names!"

His father barely acknowledges Cassidy as he checks his watch and course corrects slightly, side-stepping around the boy to walk towards the car pulling out of the garage. "Cassidy, stop acting like a girl; boys don't cry. You have to stand up for yourself in this world or people will keep thinking you're soft! Man up!" He looks around the driveway. "Where is your brother, anyway? We have to get to the range."

Cassidy quickly wipes the tears off of his face and follows after his father. "Can I come too, Daddy? I wanna come."

"Dick! Let's go, son!" his father shouts. Kid-Dick races out the door and jumps into the back seat of the car. "Only big _boys_ get to go the range, Cassidy. You need to earn it. Is this behaviour earning it?" He shakes his head, turns and gets in.

As the car pulls out of the driveway, Adult-Dick watches his brother stand there with tears dripping off of his chin onto his shoes. He clambers to his feet, wanting to go over there and do something, say something, but Keith checks him with "He can't see you."

Unable to take anymore, Dick explodes in frustration, pacing around the tree, arms flailing. "So why am I here then, if I can't do anything? Am I playing the role of karma's bitch again? Because I'm pretty sure that my performance is Oscar worthy at this point."

Keith's expression has been hard since they watched the scene with Cassidy and his dad, and Dick assumes that, as usual, he's disappointed the man in some way. So when he hears what Keith says next, and notices that his eyes go soft with pity, he's actually thrown for a loop.

"You really don't see it, do you?"

"See what? That I just sentenced my kid brother to his death when he was six years old? Yeah, I didn't really need to relive that memory, thanks. I'd managed to bury it pretty fucking deep." Dick looks down at his shoes, shamefaced.

"No, son, that the person to blame here is your father." Every word attempts to pierce through Dick's guilt, but it is a losing battle against the hardened shell around his heart.

_I would love to believe that, man. If only it was true. _"How do you figure that?"

He sees Keith sigh and shake his head. When he speaks, Dick can hear the restrained outrage in his voice. "Where do you think you learned that behavior from? Did you not just hear your father calling Cassidy a girl too? Could you possibly have picked it up from him, and used it to gain his approval?" Keith pulls himself to his feet, and puts his hands on Dick's shoulders, looking him straight in the eye. "Dick, what just happened there, that was everyday life in your house, right?" Dick barely nods.

A low growl escapes Keith's throat, and Dick can see him fight to maintain control of his emotions. Wonder and gratitude for the man suddenly fill Dick's chest, that there is maybe someone other than Logan who cares enough about him to react this way. And just a little bit of jealousy towards Veronica.

"I'm here to tell you that's not normal fatherly behavior. You calling your brother names, now _that's_ normal seven-year-old behavior. Veronica may be an only child, but I grew up with two older brothers and a sister. I remember," Keith says with a knowing smile. "The difference is, my parents cuffed us when they caught us saying things like that and eventually, we learned that that kind of behavior is unacceptable, the same way most kids do. You learned it too, didn't you? Only much later and in the most horrible way possible." Keith's eyes get dangerous again. "It was his job to teach you, and he failed. So did your mother."

Dick considers the other man's words. True, his parents hadn't been particularly good role models. He chuckles internally. _That's like admitting that Logan is a little into Ronnie!_ Keith is probably the only parent he knows who is any good at the parenting thing, so he might be right. At least a little bit. It dawns on him at this point that this is probably why Keith is here with him now. Who else would be able to tell that his dad was a loser? But Dick can't ignore the simple fact that _he himself_ had made his brother's life a living hell.

"It still happened and it was still me who started it." Dick says with conviction, unable to accept the get out of jail free card he is being handed.

"It was," Keith agrees, "and you will never be fully absolved of that. But shift at least part of the blame to where it belongs; firmly on your parents' shoulders and focus on making amends and forgiving yourself. You've started with the first part. It's time to move on to forgiveness."

Dick's mind is spinning. He wants so badly to accept what Keith is telling him, but the guilt that he's been living with for well over a decade is too familiar, it feels too right, for him to let it go. He's tried so hard to do something good with his godforsaken fortune, and he thinks his foundation might be helping some kids after all, but none of that will bring his brother back. None of it changes anything.

_My fault. It could have been us against the world, but instead I left him all alone._

Suddenly, Dick hears shouts and noises coming from somewhere behind him, but when he turns to look, nothing's there. He turns back to Keith, but the man has disappeared. Cassidy is also gone from where he was standing just moments before. A quick scan of the area shows Dick that his brother is now aiming his slingshot at the neighbour's cat, which is sitting in a tree. He misses by several inches, but whatever he shot makes a small explosion of flame and smoke, resulting in a smoldering black spot on the trunk.

_Jesus, he's trying to blow up a cat. Didn't I learn in Psych that's, like, a sign or something? Whatever. Still my fault._

The shouts are starting to get louder, and his vision is whiting out again.

* * *

><p>"Another 20 cc of methyl-" Dick can't make out the rest of the unidentified voice's medical mumbo jumbo and nor can he open his eyes to see who said it.<p>

"DICK! DAMMIT DICK, WAKE UP!" _Logan, I'm trying, man. Gimme a minute._

"Logan, come outside. Let the doctors do what they need to do. You aren't helping." _Ronnie? What's she doing here?_

"Listen to your girlfriend, sir. Get out of here and let us work. He's going to be fine, but not if you distract us with your shouting."

"Veronica, let me g-" He can hear Logan's voice drift farther away and a door close.

Blackness.


	3. Chapter 3

Woomp…woomp…woomp….

The bass thumps deep within his chest, his whole body vibrating with the rhythmic pounding of the music. It's loud, obnoxiously loud, frankly, just past that noise threshold where sound becomes more tactile than auditory.

Dick stares around the Pi Sig common room, filled to overflowing with writhing, sweaty bodies. He is perched on a three-legged stool in a dark corner of the room desperately wishing he could pick up the plastic cup of beer that sits on the small table in front of him. He's already tried three times, but while his hand doesn't go all Casper and pass through the drink, he still isn't able to grasp it. It's strange, since he can most certainly feel the stool supporting his ass. The elusive cup, however, he just cannot touch. Which sucks, because if he needs to sit through another one of these damn dreams, he would really prefer to do it with some alcohol to take the edge off.

His hand is moving to try for a fourth time when a voice comes from his left, one that has always registered as "harpy bitch" in his mind.

"God, idiot. Are you five? You. can't. touch. it. Knock it off and pay attention, so we can get this over with."

Dick's eyes go wide with shock at finding his long-ago ex standing next to him, picking at her perfectly manicured nails and looking for all the world like she's smelling something putrid. _Well, Madison did pretty much always make that face, dude. God knows you didn't date her for her award winning personality._

"What the hell are you doing here, Maddy?"

"Babysitting, apparently." Madison rolls her eyes impatiently, her chin lifting a few more inches, her back ramrod straight.

Dick notices that her hair is the same bottle blond colour she wore in high school, not the still-not-natural warm brown she'd had the last time he'd seen her. He wonders snidely how many dozens of other people know that her carpet doesn't match her drapes, and chuckles quietly to himself. "You didn't even go to Hearst. Why are you here?"

Clearly thinking him a complete idiot, Madison does nothing to hide her impatience. "Because-" she draws in the dramatic breath of a martyr "-I'm the one who happens to be your last serious girlfriend. Lucky me." Her tone does not indicate that she actually feels blessed by this privilege, and she returns her focus back to her nails, mumbling what Dick thinks are general insults towards his beloved frat and how sub-par they were compared to the ones at USC.

"Look, Mads, there is nothing you can tell me that I want to hear, babe. Run along. I'll figure out whatever this is by myself." Dick scans the crowd searching for his own blond shag in the throng.

Madison's trademark sarcasm layers her smile and her words. "Dick, your brain couldn't figure out the pizza tip. You can't even spot yourself twenty feet away." She grabs his chin and jerks his face hard in the direction of his nineteen year old self. "Get with the program."

Dick leaps off the stool, pulling his face from her grasp. "Ow! Step off, bitch! Jesus Christ!"

Madison is clearly unfazed by his outburst, and coos, "Aww…Is wittle Dicky-Wicky hurt?" Her tone then take a sharp turn into disgust. "Please, drama queen. Relax."

Dick runs his hand through his hair, taking a deep breath to get himself under control. _Man, she wasn't that good a lay. Why the fuck did I ever put up with her shit? _He sinks back onto the stool and returns to watching himself grinding up against a half-naked redhead. He's actually pretty impressed with what he's seeing. _Look at that hot chick right there. That's what college was all about. Parties, babes, booze. It didn't get any better than that. Man, it still doesn't get any better than that._ Except, you know, when more than a few days go by without a party and he's forced to act all mature and shit. Good thing he didn't let it happen very often.

The red-head is whispering into Frat-Boy-Dick's ear, and although they are clearly too far away to hear it, especially over the music, Dick and Madison both somehow hear that she's asking if he has a yacht. They see the girl push her breasts a little closer to him, and hear him crack something about having a 40-footer, and a boat too. He grabs her ass and pulls her into his crotch while shoving his tongue down her throat.

Next to Dick, Madison is pretending to stick her finger down her throat and gag. He just looks over at her and raises one eyebrow, unamused. "And you call me a drama queen?" Shaking his head, he looks away. "Just say what you've gotta say and get the fuck away from me already."

"OK, let me put this into simple words so that even you can understand. That guy right there?" – she waves her hand in the direction of Frat-Boy-Dick – "He's a creeper. And that girl he's with? She's the worst kind of gold-digging skank. What's worse is that you're _still_ that guy. At least she eventually got a job and grew up." She turns her gaze on Dick with disdain in her eyes, but also just a tiny smidge of pity.

Dick can't help glancing over when he feels her looking at him. He expects the disdain, it had coloured most of their relationship, but he doesn't care about it anymore now than he did then. What he won't accept is her pity. "Fuck you. You were happy enough to be my skank for years. Who are you to talk?"

"Look, asshole. You think you can just fuck anything with boobs, as long as she's hot, and no one's going to get hurt. That as long as you can convince yourself that she's willing, who cares? Well, fuck you. It didn't work like that then, and it doesn't work like that now." Madison has lost all restraint; Dick can see it in her eyes. The words come spitting out of her mouth unrehearsed and raw. He wonders briefly if maybe she cared more about him back then than she let on, and she's spent all these years getting more and more bitter. But then he remembers that she gave as good as she got, and his guilt vaporizes. "Do you know how many of your one night stands cried over you? How many convinced themselves that they deserved the way you treated them? How many thought they might be pregnant, or thought they caught something? I might be a heartless bitch, but even I know that no one deserves to feel like that."

The heat of the crowd might be the cause of the flush on his cheeks or it might be because he's angry. But if he's perfectly honest with himself, Madison's words embarrass him more than he wants to admit.

_Well fuck her_.

She's probably just jealous. She's realized that she peaked with him in high school, and now she wants to make him feel as shitty as she feels. No way. He looks at his younger self macking on his chick, hand halfway up her skirt already. _That's how it was meant to be, dude. Don't let anyone tell you different_.

His verbal smack down is halfway out of his mouth when he realizes that she isn't there anymore. Which makes it even more fucking creepy when he hears her parting shot somewhere in the back of his mind, crystal clear despite the loud music. "By the way, if you have to spike her drink, she isn't willing."

It's as though someone has thrown a bucket of ice down the back of his shirt. Her last words bounce off his eardrums, echoing in his mind, even picking up the melody of the music playing so that it repeats like the refrain of a song you can't get out of your head. Dick's hands squeeze his temples and his eyes clench shut as though if he shuts off all his senses he can magically block the words out. He shakes his head back and forth, bouncing slightly as though he's trying to tamp down the guilt that is bubbling to the surface. _One time, damn it!_ He'd only done it that one time and the E didn't even work!

_No, dammit. They want you, man. You're sex on a stick. Emperor of the bedroom. She doesn't know what she's talking about. The girls, they get it._

The icy sensation flows down his back into his arms and legs. He can feel the cold slide along his bones, deep in his joints, making his extremities tingle. The music is fading but he's too afraid to open his eyes to see if the room is fading too. He's just so cold…

* * *

><p>"- c-c-cold-" Dick mumbled through the cotton in his mouth. He thought he felt his hands shaking, but couldn't focus enough to tell if it was true.<p>

"Pass me the extra blanket from the cabinet please, Veronica?" Logan's voice was very quiet, but Dick heard how worried he was.

A flannel blanket was tucked gently around his feet, then his knees, his arms, his shoulders, and finally, under his chin. Dick couldn't manage to open his eyes, but he could tell that it must have been Veronica playing nursemaid when some kind of strawberry smell wafted by his nose.

"Dick, is that better?" Logan asked tentatively. "Are you awake, dude? They said the morphine can make you feel cold. It's, uh, normal."

It took every ounce of focus Dick had to formulate a coherent response. It frustrated him to no end to know what he wanted to say, but not be able to control his body. His words came out just above a whisper. "Mmm…better. Thanks, Ronnie. Are you giving me my sponge bath too?"

He could almost hear Veronica's eye roll but he actually did hear Logan chuckle, and he was glad he could still get his friend to laugh. _I guess he isn't still pissed at me_.

"Dick, you'd better recover before you piss me off. I'm not above tasering your ass in a hospital bed, and I don't think five days in this bed is long enough," Veronica threatened drily.

"You just want to look under my hospital gown. I get it." The banter was helping him clear his head, and he attempted to open his eyes slightly. Logan was standing next to the bed, shadows under his eyes, staring down at him with such intensity it was as though he'd spent the last few days and nights willing Dick to get better using only the force of his mind. Veronica was sitting on the windowsill, legs dangling like a child, heels softly bouncing off the walls, looking at Logan as though _her_ stare was all that was keeping him standing. Well, that made sense. _She wouldn't be here for me_.

Logan exhaled and Dick could see some of the tension leaving his body. "I'm alright, Dad. Chillax."

Logan grinned down at his best friend. "Shut up, asshole, and get better. I leave in two weeks and I need my head in the game, not worrying about your sorry ass in here. You better be out because I need a ride to base."

Dick nodded in the direction of his splinted leg. "You're going to have to get your lady friend to take you. Kinda hard to drive the Porsche with one leg. I'm sure you can find some way to make it worth her while, right Ronnie?"

"Logan, that's two skeezy comments in five minutes. I think he's going to be fine. C'mon, lets go home. You need to sleep, and so does he."

"Yeah, go on home, dude. But stop at the nurse's station first and round me up a hot little night nurse, would you? See if you can find me a redhead."

Veronica jumped down off the windowsill and grabbed her purse, clearly past her tolerance level for Dick's comments. "I'll meet you at the elevators, Logan."

Logan tried not to smile at the exchange, but he was clearly too relieved that his friend was able to joke around to get upset. "Yeah, I'll be right there." Turning to Dick, he said, "Just-" he looked down at his hands still clenching the rail on the side of the bed- "don't die tonight, okay?"

Dick knew that Logan was scared for him, and really did want to reassure him that he was fine. _How do I do that without sounding like some pussy bitch?_ "And miss out on trying that new board you got me? No chance."

Logan smiled at him wanly before turning to go. "Night, Dick."

"Night."

It was closer to four weeks before Dick was allowed to leave the hospital, but at least Logan was satisfied with Dick's progress when he left on tour. Two days before he left, Veronica walked into Dick's room alone after supper. The patient was sitting up in bed watching an old _Ren and Stimpy_ rerun on The Cartoon Network.

"Well, well, well. What can I do you for, Ronnie? Is Logan supposed to be here? I would have thought you would have kept his balls tied to the bed posts until he shipped out." Dick reached for the remote and muted the TV.

Veronica's stern expression barely cracked in response to Dick's baiting. She stopped at the end of his bed, hands in her trench coat pockets, and stared at him for a long moment before speaking.

"Dick, so help me God, if you give Logan one iota of anything to worry about while he is away, I will wait until you are well and then I will send you back in here myself. He needs focus and concentration while he's out there, and I will not let you distract him from coming back to me. To us. Am I making myself clear?" Her eyes were boring holes into his.

"Ronnie, relax. Logan knows I'm fine. It takes more than this to get rid of the Dickmeister." Dick tried to laugh off her concern. Logan was the most focused person he knew, with the exception of maybe Ronnie herself. There was no way that he'd let this situation mess up his mind while he was flying.

"Like a cockroach, I know," Veronica volleyed back. "Look, just make sure that when he comes to say goodbye tomorrow, he doesn't leave worried."

"Will do. Now if you don't mind, I'm watching something here." Dick reached for the remote and turned back up the sound, pointedly dismissing his best friend's girlfriend. He could feel her watching him for another long second before she turned on her heel and walked out of the room.

The next day, when Logan came to visit – sans Veronica – Dick made sure that his buddy knew nothing had changed. He was the same old Dick he'd been before the accident. OK sure, he had wanted to maybe talk to Logan about those two crazy dreams he'd had, but there hadn't been any others, so he kept his mouth shut. It was probably just the morphine anyway, but now that he was weaned off that shit, he was fine. No use stressing out his friend. Not that Veronica was right or anything. So when Logan finely got up to leave, Dick ignored his not-so-subtle leading questions and made it clear that everything was fine. No one would be able to blame him because Logan was worried.

Almost two weeks later, Dick walked – hobbled - into his beach house, glad to be home. He immediately headed for the phone and dialed his buddy Tyler to find out when and where the next party was.

He was fine.


	4. Chapter 4

It was dark. Like, completely black, can't see the ceiling or the walls, you might as well be blind, B-L-A-C-K. He knew that having the lined curtains was worth it most nights, but there was something about being awake in the dark at – what, two am ish? – in his frame of mind that made Dick regret letting himself be talked into them by his designer.

He was physically wiped out. Completely healed—_Halle-fucking-lujah!_—but exhausted from the three parties and four business meetings he'd had this week. He'd even opted out of a date with Brandi again tonight to recoup so that he could be in top shape for Savannah tomorrow. His mind wandered to his date the next evening and, if the room had been a little brighter, the leer would have been clear on his face. Blond hair, nice rack, tight little ass. _Aw, yeah! _It had been three weeks since he'd been released from the hospital, and although he hadn't been a monk, he certainly hadn't been in top sexin' condition. Savannah was his reward for listening to his doctors and holding off an extra few days. _She's gonna be worth every minute of waitin', dude._

If only he could let himself sleep.

_Fucking dreams_, Dick thought bitterly. _I so don't need this shit._

He didn't have them every night, but when they did come he had no idea what set them off. It didn't matter what he drank, what pills he used, or how many blowjobs he got to relax. The dreams came randomly and he was tired of re-living his less than stellar past. Tests he'd cheated on. Beat downs he'd given. Girls he'd scammed. On and on it went until he was scared to see what came next.

_I must be tired enough by now. If I show up all fucked up for our date tomorrow, Savannah's never gonna go out with me again. The hell with it._

There was no way he was going to sacrifice the chance with of his sexiest, but most temperamental, sure things. He rolled over, burrowed down into the blanket and fell fast asleep.

* * *

><p>The bright sun on a windy beach smacks him awake more thoroughly than a bucket of cold water.<p>

_Goddamn it!_

Dick hangs his head dejectedly, hands on hips, eyes closed. He takes a slow, frustrated breath. The salty, fishiness of the ocean fills his nostrils and he lets the smell of his happy place calm him. Only when the pounding in his ears subsides does he look around to locate the younger version of himself he knows is nearby.

_All right brain, what scene in "This Is Your Shit Life" am I re-living this time? _Just as he thinks it, Dick spots himself and decides he doesn't want to know after all.

_Really? It wasn't embarrassing enough the first time? _Shaking his head, he walks over towards the couple talking further down the beach. About ten feet away from them, he stops and looks left, where he knows his brother is standing.

"Of course it's you," he says to Cassidy in an acerbic tone.

"Of course it is," Cassidy replies mildly. "Did you expect someone else?"

Cassidy looks over to where Mac is reluctantly listening to a half-drunk apology. "Dude, you were really an idiot here, you know that right?"

Dick's face goes crimson. "I know," he mumbles.

"And don't even get me started on how you acted here –"

In a blink, Dick finds himself in his old house, watching a high school version of himself mock Mac and Cassidy, who he'd found making out on the couch while watching a movie.

"– and here –"

They are standing at the school carnival and Dick is berating the couple, doing everything he can to embarrass his little brother. He watches as Cassidy drops Mac's hand in a rush of self-consciousness and then storms away. He can see the revulsion in Mac's eyes as she glares at him.

"– and especially here."

Dick cringes as he watches himself, so drunk he needed to hold himself up on the wall of the Hearst dorm hallway, call Mac Cassidy's beard. Guilt overwhelms him when he actually sees her recoil. He'd been so far gone at the time that he had no conscious memory of what happened other than that he was an ass and she was pissed off. Now he can see clearly how his outburst hit home. Quietly pleading, he looks at his brother. "Can we not, Cass? I fucking know, okay? Why do you think I tried to apologize?"

The surroundings flash away yet again, and the fresh air confirms that they're back at the beach.

"This is apologizing?" Cassidy exclaims, waving towards the couple in front of them. Mac's hand is held in front of younger Dick's face, blocking his puckered lips as he leans in for a kiss. They all watch her, clearly grossed out, walk away as fast as she can through the shifting sand.

"Hey! I tried!" Dick shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at his feet, pouting.

"Oh my God, Dick. I have no words." Cassidy turns away exasperated, ready to abandon his brother right there. "Seriously, this is never going to work," he says under his breath.

Irritation and defeat pour from Dick's person, so much so that he's sure that the sunny day they are visiting may have just visibly dimmed. "No. No it's not. I wish all of you fucking spirit guides or whatever-you-are would stop trying this intervention bullshit and just let me get through my days in peace. I'm not worth the effort, trust me."

Dick sinks to his knees in the sand and then falls forward, his right hand beating the beach. He wants so desperately to expel the turmoil inside of him, make the sand fly everywhere, punch his way to the other side of the world.

The sand doesn't move and he curses this dream crap yet again.

Cassidy remains standing above him but casts no shadow over the body on the ground. "That's your problem right there, bro. You can't deny it anymore. It's too much to bury, even under all the booze and babes and 8-balls. There _is _no more peace." A humourless laugh escapes. "I get it, trying to escape. I guess I was spectacularly successful at it, too. The thing is, Dick, it was too late for me. I'd fucked it all up so royally already that there was nothing else for me to do _but_ escape. But you, what are you escaping from? You survived Dad's bullshit. And mine. What the hell are you doing all of this for?"

The response is automatic, rote. "Just lookin' for a good time, dude."

A long silence elapses. Dick stares at the sand, his gaze so intense that he could be counting the grains. He knows that Cassidy is waiting for a better answer than the company line, but he doesn't know what else to say. He looks left at Mac walking away from him – both hims - down the beach towards Wallace. He tries to think back, to remember what was going through his head at the time, because the face that he sees on his drunk, frat-boy self is completely blank.

_Ghostworld is better than all of us._

The thought appears in a wink, clear as day. That's what he'd ben thinking. It's even still true today, although she is miles away from being Ghostworld anymore. He remembers how she looked at the reunion, all sleek and shit, full of confidence and attitude. These days she knows what she wants and she goes after it. He can see it every time he runs into her at whatever party Logan and Veronica are having.

He remembers how angry he had been at her; that she could just pick up and function after that night at the Grand. Really, though, he'd been angry way before that, at her _and_ at Cass. How dare they have found each other? How dare she make his brother happy? Dick didn't have anyone to make _him_ happy, so why did his brat of a younger brother get to have it if he couldn't?

If there was one thing that Dick knew about, it was being alone. He'd had no parents worthy of the name. Not even a decent nanny—one who smelled of Nivea and empanadas. Little old abuelas always loved kids, but no, his dad had to go and hire whatever hot piece of ass he could find who would nominally make sure the boys didn't set the house on fire. Then, when they got too old for nannies, Dick Sr. just started marrying the tramps. And it wasn't even worth it to spare a thought for Bettina. His mother never spared a thought for them.

Then there was Madison, a girlfriend who hated him even though he had legitimately tried to be decent to her in the early weeks of their relationship. After a while, though, he just figured if she wouldn't like him, at least she'd fuck him. Until she didn't anymore.

Sure he had his friends, but what kind of pussy did you have to be to get all emo over your bros in high school? They were just there to hang with. And there was always Cass. Cass was in the same situation; he understood and made it so that Dick wasn't the only one. But then Cassidy did what Dick couldn't do. He'd found someone who made him happy, and Dick just couldn't let that be true, because if it was, then that made Dick that much more pathetic than he already felt.

Cassidy's voice breaks in to Dick's reverie. "You know what pisses me off the most, Dick? She was the only person besides you whose opinion meant anything to me. And when I died, all you did was make her feel worse when all I would have wanted was for her to feel better."

A jolt of anger through Dick's gut propels him to his feet. His hands curl into fists at his sides and he shakes with anger. In a rasping voice, he spits back, "Well, maybe you should have thought of that before you shot at her best friend, blew up a plane and then jumped off a roof. You know, after you killed a busload of people."

Cassidy flushes, but it's not clear to Dick if it's in anger or embarrassment. He steps into Dick's personal space until they are nose to nose, and responds quietly, "And _you_ could have realized that Mac might have understood what you were going through. You could have tried to find someone who you could lean on a little, not just a fuck and fly. Not everyone leaves, you know. Mac made me realize that maybe there were a few people who were worth keeping around. Who you might want to stick around. You need to find those people, Dick."

"Yeah, well Logan's got my back when I need it, so I'm doin' just fine, thank you very much!"

"Oh? Is Logan there to hold your hand in the dark every night? I hadn't noticed. Well, I guess you've got everything all figured out then. Have a nice life, Dick." Cassidy snaps his fingers between there faces.

* * *

><p>Just as though a light switch had been flicked, the sun turned off and Dick was back in a pit of darkness. He wasn't even sure if his eyes were open until he turned over and saw the faintest of glowing watch hands on his bedside table.<p>

Barely four o'clock.

_Jesus Christ. Savannah's never going to fuck me again._


	5. Chapter 5

Veronica's laptop rang suddenly startling Mac, who was working on it at Veronica's place while her friend was in the shower. Her fingers paused over the keyboard and she cocked her head, listening. Yup, the shower was still running.

Shrugging her shoulders, she decided to take a minute to check in with Logan herself before she went to get Veronica. Even though they had become good friends after Veronica went away and better ones since she'd come back, they weren't in a place where he called her when he was deployed. Mac clicked the green Accept button and sat back so that her face was visible in the small top corner window. The connection took a minute to settle, the black screen resolving itself into…

"Hey! Woah, dude!" Mac jumped out of her chair, turned around, arms raised to cover her face. Laughter bubbled from the safe zone behind her hands.

"Mac, what the fu-!" Logan exclaimed, surprised and, based on what she could hear, scrambling to cover himself.

Howling, Mac doubled over, but she was careful not to turn around. "Are-are you decent y-yet?"

A muffled "Yes" indicated he was pulling a shirt over his head, so Mac assumed it was safe to turn around and sit back down. She took a few deep breaths to calm her giggles.

"Yeah, yeah…hilarious. Where's Veronica? Why are you answering her Skype calls?" Logan was clearly irritated that his plan was ruined and apparently a little embarrassed. Mac didn't think the guy who had once streaked naked through his sociology class _could_ get embarrassed, but his red face said different.

Mac smirked at him through the camera. "You don't have to be uncomfortable, Logan. I know what they look like." _Even if it has been a while_. "Of course, I didn't expect to find one quite so up in my face when I came to fix Veronica's laptop tonight. She's in the shower. Still. Seriously, it's been half an hour."

The left side of Logan's mouth quirked suggestively and his eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Oh yeah? Maybe this call isn't a waste after all. Go take the laptop into the bathroom, wouldja? C'mon, please?"

"Do I look like a porn enabler to you? Forget it. You guys can Skype-fuck another time when it won't make me have to bleach my eyeballs, thank you very much."

"Party pooper." Logan's expression looked like that of a little boy who just got told he couldn't have dessert, right down to the child-like pout.

"Pervert." Mac reached for her beer and took a swig, completely unfazed. "So how are things on your tin can? Have you brought peace to the Middle East yet?"

"Oh, yeah, sure. We did that on day two. Now we're just sticking around because the Navy rations are so delicious," he responded dryly. A deep voice from behind his computer screen rumbled unintelligibly, and Logan looked up and nodded curtly. "OK, just gimme a sec. I'll be right there."

Mac shook her head in sympathy. _Man, Bond, you are gonna be so pissed that you took the extra long steam option tonight._

"I guess Veronica's going to miss your call. Any messages to pass on that won't make me puke?"

"Uh, actually, yeah. Look, could you guys do me a favour? Could you, uh, go check on Dick tomorrow? He sent me this weird email and I'm kind of concerned." Logan's face was dark and serious. Mac could tell that he was legitimately nervous about his friend.

"No worries, Logan, we'll stop by after work. You do realize it's Dick, though, right? It would be weird if the email _wasn't_ weird."

"I know, but this one was, you know, different. He sounds like he's getting out of control, and, well, he was just in the hospital…"

"That was three months ago, but whatever, we'll go. We don't need your head focused here when it needs to be out there keeping you alive. You will definitely owe Veronica though…she's not going to be thrilled." She smiled like the cat that ate the canary. "And then she'll owe me and I'm good with that." Mac joked, trying to alleviate some of Logan's worry, and she was rewarded with a smile and a laugh.

"Thanks, Mac. I've got to go now. Tell V I'll try and call her again tomorrow night. I would suggest you not be there this time." Logan waggled his eyebrows.

"Thanks for the warning. I'll make sure I'm far away from here. Have a good one and be safe."

The call disconnected just as Veronica appeared in the kitchen in a fluffy yellow robe, towel drying her hair. "I just missed Logan, didn't I?" she asked, disappointed.

"Yeah, sorry V. Um, in the spirit of full disclosure, I no longer need to imagine that picture you were talking about that one time. You know, the one with Logan wearing aviator glasses on his – " She cut herself off with a snort of laughter she couldn't contain.

Veronica's mouth fell open. "WHAT?! Please tell me you're joking!" Unfortunately, as her arms fell to her sides, the belt of her robe got knocked open, giving Mac a full view of what Logan had been hoping to see in the shower.

Mac shut her eyes tight and whimpered. "Jeez, V, can't you guys manage to clothe yourselves like normal people? I know you aren't on the same continent, but showing _me _your junk is not going to make either of you feel better." When Mac opened her eyes again, Veronica was clenching her robe closed with a vice grip, face blazing. "Interesting landscaping choice, by the way," Mac sniggered, returning to the laptop.

"Shut. Up." Veronica turned to the fridge and grabbed a beer. "So what did he say?" She popped the top and chugged a few gulps to cover her embarrassment.

"Be ready for the show tomorrow night when he calls, and make sure that I'm not the one to answer this time. He also wants us to go visit Neptune's version of Spicoli tomorrow. Apparently he sent Logan a weirder than normal email and Logan wants us to channel Florence Nightingale and make sure he's OK."

Veronica's reaction was decidedly unenthusiastic. "Oh goodie." She grabbed another beer out of the fridge at a sign from Mac and moved to sit at the table. "I suppose if we must, we must. But I insist on being Nurse Ratchet instead."

"How has Dick been, anyway? I haven't heard anything really since Logan left."

"Apparently he's pretty much back to normal, if you can even use that word to describe Dick. Partying it up, as usual."

"At least he's entertaining at parties. You know, kind of like a carny freak. You know it's wrong to watch him, but you just can't help it when he starts to do tricks."

"Yeah, well, if it weren't for Logan, that is one show I would choose never to see again. But what can I do? He was all Logan had for a long time, and he watched out for him when-" Veronica stopped speaking, not wanting to articulate the horror of that time of his life. " - anyway. I guess it's Logan's turn to act as mother hen, and since he can't be here, I suppose I can deal with it every few weeks to make sure Dick hasn't choked on his own vomit." Veronica stared down at the beer bottle she was spinning in her hands, clearly not looking forward to playing sponsor.

Mac watched Veronica out of the corner of her eye. Even though her friend had only ever talked cryptically about why she hated Dick, Mac had eventually figured out what had happened in high school with the help of some of Wallace's unintentional comments over the years. When she had raised the subject in college with Logan during one of their late night, post-rehab video game marathons, he hadn't wanted to confirm her suspicions but he'd realized pretty quickly that it was something she needed to deal with as well. That confirmation had led to several months of hard work with her shrink to come to terms with what her ex-boyfriend had done. It had taken even longer and another discussion with Logan confirming that he and Dick had had an enlightening "conversation" about drugging girls drinks to be able to be in the same room with him. Mac couldn't imagine how Veronica had managed to deal with it all. But if that meant Veronica carried a lingering hatred for her rapist's brother who had put her in that situation to begin with, Mac could only try and help lighten her load.

"Look, I can help you out with that, if you want. I got kind of used to him over the last decade, against my better judgment. Occupational hazard of being Logan's friend, as you said. Maybe if we share check in duties, it will reduce the chances of either of us catching something."

Veronica smiled in gratitude, raising her beer bottle to clink it with Mac's. "Who's the best buddy a girl could have? You are!"

"Don't you forget it! Now go away and let me finish souping up your computer so I can go home and sleep."

The next day, the girls left the office and climbed into Mac's convertible Fiat. Putting on her sunglasses, Veronica signed deeply and stared at the houses flying by. "I just don't get it," she said randomly, five minutes into the drive.

"The meaning of life? Astrophysics? Who killed Mr. Body in the library with the lead pipe?" Mac quipped as she slowed to take the turnoff into Dick's beachfront neighbourhood.

"I solved the meaning of life one when I was eleven. The answer is 42," Veronica retorted, ginning. "No, I meant how Dick can still live like he's barely out of high school. Seriously, don't people get that shit out of their system in college?"

Mac shrugged. "Well, if I had to guess, I'd say he uses the booze and drugs to self-medicate. 'Money can't buy happiness, but it can buy oblivion.' He told me that once, and then walked away to score an eight-ball at a party. He seems to have gotten worse since the reunion, though. Between the tenth anniversary of Cassidy's death and finding out what really happened on the boat with Susan Knight, I don't think he's handling things very well. You and I weren't the only people bitch-slapped by the Neptune Curse. Dick may have done some really shitty things, but he's also had to deal with more than his share of karmic retribution."

Veronica spun her head around and looked at Mac, incredulous. "You can't possibly be defending Dick's behavior!"

"God no!" Mac exclaimed. She took a moment to park her car in Dick's driveway before she continued. "I just meant that I can understand wanting to escape life for a bit when it shits on you, and he's been shit on regularly pretty much his whole life. Having said that, the guy acts like a douche. An amusing douche on occasion, but a douche none the less. It's a shame he's so hot. Waste of a great ass." Mac opened her door and got out of the car.

"Ew, Mac, please!" Veronica gagged as she followed Mac up to the door.

"What? He doesn't need to be Einstein for me to appreciate a fine man. All he needs to do is walk away, which is the best way to appreciate Dick anyway." Mac rang the doorbell.

The girls waited for about a minute before trying again. Veronica looked around the side of the house and saw Dick's Mustang in the driveway. "Well, he's home. Idiot must be passed out. Good thing I still have my key from when Logan was staying here." She fished out her master key ring and started to flip through the myriad of keys. It only took her a minute to find the right one and open the door.

The girls walked right into the house calling Dick's name. It was a good thing that there was still some light left at this hour, because not one light was on and the air smelled closed in, like no windows had been opened for several days. A quick glance as they passed the kitchen revealed it to be empty. Mac walked toward the living room while Veronica headed toward the bedroom.

"It's empty in here, V, and the doors to the beach are locked," Mac called out. "What about you?"

Mac suddenly heard Veronica exclaim "Oh shit!" and ran for the bedroom. When she got there she found Dick lying facedown on the floor across the doorway to his master bath. His feet were on the ceramic tile of the bathroom while the top half of his body was sprawled on the extra thick plush carpet of the bedroom. He was semi-conscious, but just barely. An empty bottle of tequila lay on the floor nearby and an old pan with brownie crumbs was on the dresser. Veronica was kneeling next to him trying to find his pulse. Mac was sure he was mumbling something and stepped closer to try and hear him.

" – no please! No…more…dreams!...hurts…stop…forget…Cass…another…bottle… can't sleep… more brownies…"

"Jesus, Veronica, I'm calling 911." Her phone was in her hand and she'd dialed before she even finished the sentence.

Veronica smacked Dick's cheek with her hand to attempt to keep him from losing consciousness and lowered her face closer to his. Her voice full of contempt, she spat at him, "You wake the fuck up, Dick Casablancas! I am not going to be the one to tell Logan that you went and killed yourself, so you listen to me, and you listen carefully. You stay with us, Dick. Do you hear me? You focus on my voice and you keep talking. I don't care what you say. Rank your favorite sex positions for all I care, but you stay awake!"

Mac stayed on the phone with the responder while Veronica continued her tirade. Even in this state Dick must have been terrified of Veronica because he continued to mumble, but now it was "…Logan..." and "…sorry…" and "…c'mon Ronnie…". A few minutes later, the paramedics arrived and shortly after they all found themselves back at Neptune Memorial Hospital.

The doors leading to the emergency room opened and the girls walked through a few minutes after Dick had arrived. Approaching the desk to speak to a nurse, Veronica was surprised to find that her name was on Dick's emergency call list, so she was able to get information without resorting to her normal tactics. Unfortunately, the information available wasn't more than that the doctor was with Dick and she'd be along shortly. With no other options, they sat in the small waiting room.

"Well, I'm not sure who had the forethought to set up this little arrangement, but I bet it wasn't Dick." Mac grinned at Veronica without humour.

"You would make millions on that bet if I was stupid enough to take it. Yeah, this has Logan written all over it. I'd kill him, but it's proving to be useful, so I really can't justify the homicide."

Just then, a lady walked into the room wearing scrubs and a mask pulled down to her chin, freeing her mouth and nose. "Family of Dick Casablancas?"

Mac and Veronica got up and hurried over to the doctor, who led them to a private meeting room a few doors down the hall. When they had all sat down and introduced themselves, the doctor clasped her hands on the table and leaned on her elbows. "Well, Ms. Mars, Dick is in serious condition. We're going to have to make some difficult decisions."


	6. Chapter 6

"I'm sorry to lay this on you over Skype, Lo." Veronica stared intently at her boyfriend's face, trying hard to will away the physical distance between them. She lifted her hand to meet his on the screen, a habit they had picked up accidentally during his first deployment. She'd been missing him particularly badly and had picked a fight over something stupid. Seeing right through her in the way he always did, he talked her down (eventually), and they had instinctively reached out to each other despite the physical barrier. Surprisingly, even the simple act of putting their hands together on screen had reassured them both, and they continued to use it whenever they needed that extra bit of comfort. "I didn't want to worry you, but Mac and I couldn't afford the rehab fees and he's in no shape to write a check."

"Don't be sorry, babe." He shook his head. "I didn't expect you guys to have to deal with all of this when I asked Mac to go check on him." Logan pulled his hand away from the screen and slammed it down on the table in front of him causing his face to shake on the screen. "Damn it, Dick! Why are you such an idiot?"

"Yeah, well, no arguments here, but Logan, I actually think this goes beyond just Dick's general idiocy. Mac and I were trying to figure out what he was rambling about when we found him, and she's pretty sure this has to do with B-" Veronica cut herself off, having trouble getting the name out. She tried again, "Ca-" and failed. Pursing her lips in distaste and taking a deep breath, she tried one final time. "-his brother."

"Of course it does. It always has, but what I don't get is why _now_? I mean, it was bad before, but since his stupid cliff diving stunt things have spiraled. Why?" Logan's voice was filled with desperation, and Veronica could see him rub his hands over his face, trying to wipe it away.

She'd love to be able to answer him, but she had absolutely no idea what went on in Dick Casablancas' mind and she had no interest in trying to start now, so she stayed quiet. Her mild ambivalence certainly wouldn't help Logan, and might only make things worse. _I mean, I don't want the guy to die, but I don't particularly want to know what makes him tick, either._

Logan uncovered his face and sat up straight and resolute. Veronica recognized his Navy training kicking in. Make the plan; execute the plan. "OK, so he's willing to go to rehab, right? He's not fighting you on this?"

Veronica detected a certain amount of surprise in these questions even considering she'd answered them twice already, and she rolled her eyes. She didn't want to give him the details of exactly what had happened, so she hid behind a smirk, hoping to deflect.

* * *

><p>Dick is lying in his hospital bed looking grey and exhausted, face turned toward Veronica who is sitting on the windowsill, back braced on one side and feet braced on the other, determination written all over her face. Mac is curled up in the chair near his bed playing some game on her iPhone, ignoring both of them.<p>

"I don't give a flying fuck where you want to go, Dick. There is no way I'm letting you go home to start this shit all over again. You're worrying Logan and it ends now." She crosses her arms; her tone brooks no argument.

And yet, Dick argues. "Look Ronnie, don't pretend you care what happens to me, OK? You and Mac got to save the day again or whatever, but this is where the superhero and her sidekick get to clock out. I'll deal with it. Go away." His voice is weak, but firm.

"Bang up job you've done so far," Veronica shoots back derisively. They continue to bicker for another few minutes until Mac suddenly stands up, walks over to the bed and stares down at Dick. Nothing about her countenance indicates that she's angry, but Dick looks up at her warily. Veronica gets the distinct impression that Mac is sad, but she's at a loss as to why.

Mac's voice is soft but thick when she starts talking, as though she's forcing herself to discuss an unpleasant memory. Much to Veronica's horror, she soon realizes that Mac _is_ reliving an unpleasant memory.

"Dick, doesn't any of this feel familiar? Remember when it was you and me sitting in a hospital room just like this one and it was Logan in that bed? He didn't listen to us either did he, and where did he end up? Right back here. Almost dead. Again." She pauses a minute to gather herself, the memory clearly trying to break her.

Veronica notes that Mac expressly doesn't look at up at her and is grateful, knowing how raw it would be for both of them. "_Thank God_ he was smart enough to listen to Dr. Galway the last time, but do you remember those few days until Galway showed up? How we fought with Logan to just go to rehab already? I remember sitting up with you in the cafeteria for hours while you paced back and forth trying to figure out how to get through to him. Do you remember?"

Mac stops and waits for Dick to respond but all he can do is stare at her open-mouthed. She repeats her question, much more sharply than before, and the look in her eye becomes menacing, "Do. You. Remember?"

Swallowing, Dick leans back into his pillow and looks up at the ceiling. Quietly, he answers her. "Yeah."

Her eyes soften immediately. She knows she has him. "Good. You're going then?"

Dick takes a moment before answering again, as though resigning himself to reality. "Yes," he says, distinctly.

Mac's eyes never leave his face when she puts her hand on his shoulder and says to Veronica, the ghost of a smile in her voice, "V, can you go find Dr. Johnson? We need to start the paperwork."

* * *

><p>"I told you, Mac and I were very persuasive."<p>

Accepting this answer–again, she observed with mild exasperation–Logan nodded. "OK, then contact Ranch Creek Recovery. They–" he paused briefly, looking Veronica square in the eye despite the camera, then continued, "–are the best place around. Give them my name and explain the situation. They should be able to help. Tell them–" again, a pause. Veronica forced back a hysterical giggle at the passing thought of whether or not he could get a group discount at this point. "–to use the same payment information as last time." He must have sensed her thoughts, though, because his face softened into a slightly embarrassed grin and he said, "I expect my loyalty points will go up another level. Maybe he'll get a free room upgrade."

Shaking her head at his tasteless humour but knowing that they could either laugh about everything or run screaming naked into the desert, she grinned along with him and said, "He can have _those_ points, but I want the ones that upgrade me to one of those cabanas on stilts in Bali, Lieutenant."

"When this is all over, you've got yourself a deal, Ms. Mars." Logan became suddenly serious. "Thank you, Veronica. I know…I know this isn't easy for you."

Her eyes shone with love for him. "And where in the deal did you promise me easy? I traded in easy a long time ago, buddy. I'm not going to pretend that I'm having fun, but Mac will help, and Wallace too, if I bake him enough cookies. Don't worry, Logan. We'll hold him together until you get back. But really, once he gets help, it's all up to him. There's nothing you could really do anyway, even if you were here."

Veronica could see Logan's eyes flick above his screen for a brief second, and he nodded at whoever was there. "Look V, I wasn't even supposed to get this call, and my favour just expired. I've gotta go. Tell Dick to hang in there, and that I expect him to do this properly or I'll kick his ass. And V? I love you." He put his hand to the screen again, where she covers it with her own.

"I love you too, Lo. Be safe." After a few seconds, the screen flickered to black.

_Black. _

Like the colour of the charcoal concoction that he had been forced to drink when they brought him into the ER.

Like the darkness behind his eyelids right up until the technicolour dreams kicked in when he finally fell asleep.

Like the last few decades of his life.

Dick lay in the hospital bed for almost three weeks, feeling alternately like his body was vibrating and dying. His doctors wouldn't let him leave for the rehab facility until he was safely detoxed, and it was a good thing too. His symptoms were so bad that he was sure he was more likely to die from alcohol deprivation than from the poisoning that had brought him in to the hospital in the first place. He had spent the first few days crippled by headaches, nausea and troubled breathing, begging the nurses to make it stop. That was when he wasn't verbally abusing them; he was so angry but he didn't know where to direct it. They took it all in stride, though, and did what they could to make him feel better. His favorite nurse was Grace, the night nurse, who occasionally sat with him holding his hand. She was a grand-motherly type who looked like she should have been bouncing grandbabies on her knee, not dealing with him blubbering like a fucking pussy. _Shit, good thing no one else is seeing me like this. Logan would never let me live this down_.

But one by one the symptoms lessened and disappeared. The result was that now he didn't have any physical discomfort to focus on, and so his mind kept wandering to the dreams he'd had, or to the rehab place he was going to, or to the year he had spent watching Logan get clean. None of these subjects were doing anything to calm his nerves, and by the time the day arrived when Veronica finally picked him up to drive him to Ranch Creek, Dick was shaking not from withdrawal but from straight-up fear.

The orderly rolled him out the front door to Mac's car, waiting by the curb; Veronica followed behind him carrying his stuff. He squinted at the glaring sun, throwing his hand up to shade his eyes, no longer used to all the sunlight. He knew he had to get up to get into the car, but his legs just didn't want to cooperate.

"Move it, Dick." Veronica prodded, gently despite the words, her voice breaking through his paralysis. He'd be damned if he showed her any weakness, so he forced himself to get slowly to his feet, partly to hide the shakiness, partly because he hadn't really walked anywhere in a month, and climbed into the backseat of the car. Veronica dumped his bag in the trunk and climbed in the front next to Mac.

"Hey Dick." Mac greeted cheerfully, looking at him via the rearview mirror. "You ready?"

"Cowabunga, dude." Dick replied, voice flat.

"That's the spirit!" Mac said with false pep, threw the car into drive and took off down the I-15, heading north.

A little over an hour later, Mac pulled up the circular drive to a large blue building with white trim. They had left the highway and found themselves on a deserted road, barely two cars wide, that eventually meandered its way up a hill to their destination nestled on the top. They could just see the swimming pool from where they were parked, and a beautiful pergola jutting off a cliff.

Veronica jumped out of the car and moved to unpack Dick's luggage from the trunk. Mac turned around in her seat and looked at Dick who was sitting with his head flung back, eyes closed. "You ready?" she said quietly so she wouldn't surprise him if he had fallen asleep.

"No."

"Well c'mon, then. It won't get any easier. At least the view is spectacular and, look, the welcome wagon is here."

Mac got out of the car, and Dick finally opened his eyes to see three strangers standing talking to Veronica. One of them, a guy in his mid-thirties wearing some kind of uniform, was taking his bags from Veronica and turning to bring them inside. The other man, clearly a doctor by the white coat he wore, was greeting Mac as she walked up. The third person was a woman in her mid-fifties, face somber but friendly, the proper amount of sympathy and welcome.

"Ra ra, the gang's all here." Dick muttered under his breath and climbed out of the car to his temporary home away from home.


	7. Chapter 7

The digital clock on Dick's nightstand read 6:58. The morning light snuck in around both sides of the shade pulled down over the window and filtered through the beige drapes that were more decorative than useful. Had the shade been open, the view from his bedroom would have been a spectacular sprawl of desert hilltops and blue, cloudless skies. Well, not _his_ bedroom, but the room he'd been given in this godforsaken place. There was just enough light in the room to see that it was richly decorated, if a little generic. Beige walls to match the drapes and a dark, ornate chest of drawers. A pretty comfortable double bed with decent sheets and a red blanket. There was a vanity and sink next to the closet, and a shared but fancy bathroom on his floor, with slate tiles and granite counters. A photograph of a sailboat in a sunset was the only decoration. Pretty fancy digs, if one wasn't used to private islands and valet service.

Dick was lying in bed staring at the white ceiling, unwilling to start his day even two minutes early. Much to his disappointment, time stops for no man and soon enough the clock changed to 7:00. Right on cue, there was his wakeup call, a light knock on his door. "Rise and shine, Richard!" he heard Sam call.

"Yeah, I'm up." It was the same response he'd given for the last thirteen days. Thirteen. Long. Days. And, as he'd done every one of those thirteen days, he took a deep breath, recited the number of days remaining (_Fifteen more days, dude._), and climbed out of bed. He took the same seven steps to his sink, grabbed his toiletries bag and walked down the same short hall to take his four-minute shower. Then he brushed his teeth and flossed, but he didn't use any mouthwash.

They weren't allowed mouthwash here at Ranch Creek Recovery.

After he dressed in the same type of clothes he'd worn all the previous days - non-descript loose shorts and a clean white T-shirt - he went to the communal kitchen and ate the same breakfast amidst the others who were staying at the facility. He nodded to each one who greeted him as they entered – "Hey Richard!" and "Morning Richard!" He had spent the first two days correcting everyone who called him by his full name, but after he realized he wasn't getting anywhere, he just ignored it.

Dick had his daily routine set to a marching song in his head, and had taken to mumbling made up versions of "I don't know but I been told" to himself as he went from one scheduled activity to another. It was as mundane to execute day after day as it was to chant about, and he was quickly losing patience with the whole damn thing. Add the exhaustion factor to the mix—the dreams had still not stopped—and normally happy-go-lucky Dick was decidedly less than peppy.

When he was done washing and storing his dishes (no maid service here; it wasn't a hotel, after all), he went off to his individualized session with his councilor. Originally Dick had assumed that when he met with his private shrink, he'd be lying on a leather couch with some old guy in a corduroy blazer and elbow patches sitting over him, yellow pad in hand, asking him about his relationship with his mother. Reality, he learned, was very different. Dr. Blake was in his early thirties and came to work in khakis and a polo shirt. Dick sat in a chair in front of the doctor's desk and all that they talked about were the different ways that Dick was failing at life. Dr. Blake wanted him to "look for the triggers" for why he partied, but after almost two weeks, all Dick could come up with was because he was rich and hot and why the fuck shouldn't he? Dr. Blake wasn't impressed by that answer. Dick wasn't impressed by Dr. Blake.

At least those meetings were better than the stupid group sessions. _That_ was where they tried to dig deep into each guest's past. "Guests," that's what the center called the nine people sitting in a circle like some preschool class playing a fucked up version of Duck-Duck-Goose.

_Duck_ - "And, like, my friend Jenny just, like, wanted me to have one more hit with her, you know, like, for old times sake," began Emma, the small blond coed.

"Guests", as though they were on vacation and staying in a hotel. The place might have a pool and a view, but he was certain that this was the worst fucking vacation he'd ever taken. And there was no way that he was going to talk about any of his family with a group of strangers, confidentiality agreement or not. The last thing he needed was for his personal shit to be splayed across the internet for the world to read.

_Duck_ – "It's just so hard to get out of bed in the morning. I mean, who wants to face some crappy waiter job day in and day out. I'm meant for better things, I'm supposed to be famous, you know, so why bother?" lamented Rob, the struggling wannabe.

Dick could see the disappointment in his group leader's eyes every time he reminisced about a trip to TJ or a jacuzzi encounter with a hot girl but that was too damn bad. He knew he had agreed to come here, and yes, he realized that he'd probably been hitting the scene a little too hard lately and he needed to dial it back, but that was it. Hadn't he admitted as much when they'd discussed the first of the twelve steps? _"__We admit we are powerless over alcohol—that our lives have become unmanageable._" He so did not need the rest of this _feelings_ garbage.

_Goose_ - It was on day twenty-four (_Four more days!_) when Melanie had what they called "a breakthrough". She had been at the center for a little over a week, but had not said much of anything. Dick – ("You should really use Rick or Richard and stop giving the world a preconceived idea of who you are.") – had just finished a story about the time he had dropped E with this group of artists he'd met at the Burning Man Festival. It was a great story, one of his favourite memories, not to mention one of the hottest nights he'd ever had in his life. Melanie had sat in silence through it all, staring towards him but not directly at him; more over his left shoulder. When he was done - without the laughs he'd been trying for, not that he was really surprised - Melanie had finally started talking. Before she was done, Dick wished that he had chosen a different story. He didn't want to deal with this kind of shit.

"Funny, my memories of the Burning Man Festival are completely different," she began, still staring off into the middle distance. "I went with some girlfriends a few years ago. We wanted to meet other artists – we were art majors at Berkeley – and camp and relax. It was supposed to be fun. None of us were users, but we weren't saints either. We were college students, so, you know, beer was our friend. Nothing out of the ordinary though." She focused back in on the group and sat forward face pleading with them to believe her. "I don't want to make excuses or anything. Or, like, hide the truth or whatever. Really, we didn't party that much. Just the beer."

The other guests nodded their understanding. The leader motioned for her to continue, and quietly interjected that no one present was judging her. She nodded in return and took a fortifying breath before continuing.

"Anyway, I'd gone off to the bathrooms and on my way back I ran into this group of guys we'd been flirting with all week. There was this one guy, Jason, and we'd hit it off. He offered me one of the glasses of beer he'd been holding and the group of them came back to our campsite with beer for all of us. About a half an hour later, my friends and I were unconscious and the guys had their "I got lucky at Burning Man" story for the year." She shrugged. "I…haven't been dealing with it too well."

The group spent the next twenty minutes discussing Melanie's story but Dick didn't contribute anything or look at anyone. Despite Dick's admittedly questionable attitude toward women, he at least tried to have the decency to move on when the girl was not interested. There were, after all, plenty of others who were. And anyway, between the rapes during his first year at Hearst and some of the stories he'd heard Veronica tell Logan about her cases, he had grown up enough to know right from wrong. There were just some lines that you did not cross. Dick felt bad for the girl, but moreso, something about Melanie's story left Dick unsettled for days afterward. He couldn't figure out why, but decided that it was because he had been there too long already and just needed to get the hell out already.

The last four days of his treatment passed exactly as did the previous twenty-four. _I don't know but I been told, this rehab shit is getting old._ Because seriously, how much more could they tell him? He'd already listened to endless hours of psychobabble, and understood that yes, he'd gone too far these last few months with the drugs. He already knew that after the cliff accident. And yes, OK, maybe he'd been wearing himself out the last few months with too many parties and business meetings and early morning surfing. He could see now how being exhausted led to not-great decisions. But he'd listened enough too to take in some good advice on how to live a little healthier. He had to take better care of himself, that was it. Sleep more, eat his veggies, do some of that yoga shit to relax. Never drink alone. Get rid of the bottles of hard stuff at home. Stop partying with Tristan, the cokehead. Use a white noise machine to calm the dreams. He'd do all of that and things would return to normal.

During his final personal session, Dr. Blake looked at him with concern and gave him a speech about the statistics of addicts who relapse, and how much better it was to find a support group in his area to help him. Dick nodded when necessary, shook hands with the man, took the proffered pamphlets and then left to wait for Veronica outside the front door. He just caught the doctor shaking his head after him as he left the office. He was well aware that the center would have preferred to keep him for an extended stay, but there was no way that was going to happen. He'd stayed the minimum twenty-eight days like he promised Logan he would, but that was it. _Whatever, man. I did my time. I learned my lessons. Thanks for the hiking. _

Veronica and Wallace pulled up shortly after he got outside. Dick was sure that Wallace only came so that Veronica didn't have to be alone with him for the whole ride home, but that was fine with him. He didn't want to have to deal with her inquisition and private threats anyway. He climbed in the back seat with a brief "Hey" and hunkered down for the scenic drive home. He couldn't wait to see the ocean again. That was one of the hardest parts of the month for him, being away from the ocean when he was being forced to focus so much on his life. For him, his surfboard on the ocean at sunrise was the only shrink's office he'd ever needed.

"So, how did it go, Dick?" Veronica asked from the passenger seat, attempting a neutral but concerned tone. Dick wasn't fooled, though. He knew that their whole conversation was being recorded in Veronica's crazy-ass PI brain for future playback to Logan.

Trying for the same neutral tone but failing, Dick replied evasively, "Bitchin'. The food was shit but the hiking was good. I met with the good doctors and did my homework like a good boy, and I'm fine. You can tell your boyfriend that I'm good." Some resentment at having to survive the last month leaked into the tail end of his answer and did not go unnoticed by Veronica. But it was Wallace who spoke in her place, glancing at Dick in the rear view mirror.

"Hey, dude, go easy. We're all just trying to help here, man. No harm, no foul."

"Yeah, sure, whatever man. Tell Logan to call me so I can tell him myself that I'm fine." With that, Dick turned his head and stared out the window, signaling an end to the conversation. Veronica tightened her mouth as though to hold back whatever it was she would like to have said, and turned back to the road. They drove back in total silence until they got to Dick's, and even then, he got out of the car with a simple "Thanks, guys" and escaped inside as fast as he could.

Home sweet home.

Throwing his bag on the floor next to the door, Dick plugged in his cell phone, turned it on and waited while all the texts and messages from the last two months came pinging through. Damn Veronica for refusing to bring him his phone. He checked the ones from the last twenty-four hours and deleted the rest. There was a beach party happening about a mile away, and his friend Chuck was promising a load of lovely ladies. Dick decided that he needed to celebrate his homecoming, not to mention make up for almost two months without any action, so he grabbed his keys and headed out his back door. He had new "life tools" now. He could handle a party.


End file.
